Contact
by Shearwater
Summary: "He was their commander, not their father. But it was a commander's duty to look out for their subordinates. And if that required him to bring a sleepwalking Ed to his office and sit with him as he slept on his couch to keep away the nightmares, so be it." Takes place around the middle of Brotherhood. Parental fluff, rated T for cussing.


Contact

Roy Mustang sighed for the fourth time that night, expelling air and frustration in a loud huff. He was glad no one was around to hear it. He'd been muttering curses under his breath too, berating himself and his rotten luck. Of _course_ he had left that report at the very bottom of the priority papers on his desk in headquarters, intending to finish it at the end of the day and leave it in General Grumann's office. Of _course_ that particular report detailed a _very_ delicate immigration incident on the northern border of Amestris and Drachma, where tensions had turned negotiations so volatile Mustang himself and four other high-ranking officers had been sent to diffuse the tension. Of _course_ the higher-ups had needed the report on the situation no later than a day after his return, which had been yesterday.

And of _course_ he had only remembered the due date just as he was falling asleep after working late catching up on other paperwork, causing him to bolt awake in a panic. Which led him here, mounting the steps of Central Command around one in the morning. He was in civvies, his hair askew from his brief snatch of sleep. He couldn't care less. The only people around here right now were the guards on duty, and they would not see him. Even if they did, it wouldn't matter much if they saw him for what he was right now– a regular person, out of uniform, rushing to finish some work.

Mustang sighed. Fifth time. He had decided that sighing loudly was cathartic, and at the moment he could use it. He knew everything he was doing now would one day see him as Fuhrer of this country, where _he_ would be the one needing reports _exactly_ on time, waiting on his desk in the morning and ready for perusing. But right now he was still Colonel, and Grumann was reporting to was still a hard-ass. But he needed his approval. Sometimes you have to get your nose brown in order to keep it clean.

The main doors to command, where Mustang usually entered, were sealed for the night. He scowled at the inconvenience and started making his way toward the garrison. Breda was on patrol tonight, but his rotation didn't start until two, which meant he should still be there. Mustang could always throw together a transmutation circle and make a new door, but alchemic reactions weren't exactly subtle in the middle of the night. One of the perimeter guards would probably shoot at him. Besides, he had Fullmetal for transmuting every other wall or floor in Command into entrances when he was feeling lazy.

Mustang paused. Actually, no he didn't. The Elric brothers hadn't been around in several weeks. They'd been following a lead in the West, last he'd heard. Alphonse had checked in with Mustang or Hughes every other week to give brief status reports, but they had been spare and minimal, if polite. Mustang shrugged slightly and continued walking. They were technically on leave, pursuing their own interests. It was not in the military's interest to monitor them, and it was not in Mustang's. It was not his concern to know their status and whereabouts.

The twinge in his stomach was nothing more than a result of waking up early. Nothing more.

Mustang came to the garrison on the west side and knocked twice on the door. A moment later, Breda, in full uniform and with a rifle on his shoulder, opened it. His eyebrows rose slightly, but other than that he didn't seem at all surprised to find his commander, out of uniform, outside his outpost in the wee hours of a work night. "Morning, Colonel," he said cheerfully. "Didn't expect to see you here at this hour."

"Morning, Breda," Mustang answered, calm but tired. "I need to get to my office."

Breda glanced behind him before moving out into the doorway. "Is everything all right?" he asked quietly. Mustang didn't miss the way his subordinate's eyes searched the dark beyond the door's light.

"Yes, I just left some time-sensitive paperwork on my desk," said Mustang tiredly, grateful that, for once, that was really it. "I need to get it done before the Generals come in tomorrow morning. I was hoping I could go in through here."

"Of course, Colonel." Breda opened the door wider. "I'm the only one on duty on this side. So far, all's quiet. Alander, Rand and Joseboro are the rest on patrol, just a heads-up. Don't startle them. Rand has a twitchy finger."

"Thank you, Breda." Mustang closed the door behind him, coming into the warm, well-lit garrison and walking through. "I'll see you in the morning."

"See you, sir."

The main command building the garrison connected to was dark, the silent hallways illuminated only by light from the half-moon setting outside. The building was almost eerily still, where in the day it was bustling with military activity. Mustang found himself quieting his footsteps until he made almost no sound as he made his way toward his office. He had no desire to alert the guards of his presence; it would just complicate things. Better to just get to his office and finish the stupid report.

 _Clank._

Mustang froze, involuntarily holding his breath.

 _Clank._ There it was again, an odd metallic sound. He hadn't imagined it. Silently, Mustang drew into the shadow of a corner. He pulled his gloves from his pocket and slipped them on.

 _Clank._ It was louder now, closer. It was coming from behind him, near the dorm hallway.

 _Clank–plip. Clank–plip._ Two sounds now, at a set, slow, rhythm, growing louder like they were moving nearer. Mustang frowned. They almost sounded like–

Across the hallway, a figure shuffled into Mustang's view. _Clank–plip._ That was definitely it. It was in a shadow, too dark for Mustang to see. His eyes narrowed.

The figure lurched forward. Moonlight fell on long fine hair bleached by the moon and a wiry body clad in loose sweatpants and T-shirt. Mustang's eyes widened in surprise. Even at this distance, in this poor light, there was no mistaking the glint of metal where the left foot should be. The person took another step forward. _Clank_ went the left foot against the tile floor. Mustang shifted his gaze up, knowing what he'd find. Starting at the collar of the shirt and running under the right sleeve, an automail arm, fingers loose. Mustang tried not to scoff.

It was Fullmetal–of course it was. He and Al must have gotten back fairly recently, maybe even earlier tonight. Mustang was sure Ed would have been banging open his door to annoy him if they'd arrived before Command closed.

Mustang frowned. So why was Ed wandering around Central headquarters in the middle of the night? Yeah, the kid had weirder sleep patterns than an Amestrian toddler in Xing, but still. It seemed out of character, too, for Ed to be in the open like this. If he wanted to wander, he'd be far quieter than this.

Then Mustang's eyes tracked up further, and the pieces fell into place.

Fullmetal was asleep. His head was tipped back, eyes closed, a soft snore escaping his open lips. He took another halting step forward, making his slow way down the hall.

Huh. Mustang tipped his head thoughtfully as he stowed his gloves back in his pocket. He didn't know Ed was a somnambulist. Although, with the kind of trauma the kid been through, sleepwalking seemed like a pretty mild consequence. Mustang walked up quietly, not wanting to wake him yet.

In sleep some of the lines of stress and petulance eased from the teen's face, making him look more like the fifteen years he really was. With all the kid's brash precociousness and alchemic genius, it was easy sometimes for Mustang to forget that Edward was just that: a kid. A kid light years ahead of his age group, sure, but a kid nonetheless. A kid who sleepwalked, apparently. Roy sighed. _Six._

He couldn't just let Ed amble around Central command. Ed was lucky it had been Mustang to find him, and not one of the guards. Actually, knowing how Ed woke up, it was probably more fortunate for the guards. Poking lions in the eye, even short ones, generally ended badly for all parties involved.

Mustang waved a hand experimentally in front of Fullmetal's face. Not a twitch. He snapped a finger next to Ed's ear. Nothing.

Mustang listened for a moment, and hearing no sound from any nearby guards, leaned closer to his snoozing subordinate. "Wake up, Fullmetal," he said, loudly as he dared. "You're sleepwalking through Central command. Wake up."

Ed just kept walking slowly forward. Mustang scowled. "Edward! Wake up. I can't have you strolling down the hallways of headquarters at one in the morning, especially since I was already doing that. People will think we're in love."

If Ed was actually awake and dicking around with him, he was a far better actor than Mustang ever gave him credit for. Roy scowled.

Knowing it would probably result in a split lip due to Fullmetal's knee-jerk reaction to punch anything in his personal space, Mustang grabbed his automail shoulder and shook him. Ed moaned quietly and smacked his lips, but his breathing remained constant and slow, and his eyes were closed.

Mustang didn't try to keep the surprise off his face. He knew how lightly Ed slept. He could fall off _anywhere,_ including against a train window and on Mustang's desk, but one abnormal sound, one person standing too close, and Ed was up and ready to fight in the fraction of a moment. (Mustang's crew had learned that the hard way. Ed may look like an easy target, but never again would _any_ of the soldiers in Eastern command try to draw a mustache on a sleeping Ed's face, after how he reacted. Havoc was lucky he got to keep the arm.)

If he wasn't waking up at physical stimulation, there was only thing left to try. It was Mustang's absolute last resort. He leaned in close until he was inches from Ed's temple, and directly into his ear, he whispered, "Runt."

Ed stiffened momentarily before resuming his walk.

"Pipsqueak! Dust speck! Microscopic dandruff of a midget plankton!" Mustang stage-yelled into Ed's ear. Nothing. The Fullmetal Alchemist was dead to the world.

Roy scratched the back of his head in frustration. "I swear to God, kid," he growled to the sleeping prodigy, "you give me gray hairs. If the homunculi don't get me first, you're going to kill me. Being your commanding officer is a full time job alone." Ed just snored on.

Mustang sighed for the seventh time that night. He glanced back to the dorm hall before deciding against it. Ed would probably just waltz right out again if Roy took him back there. He looked down the hall. His office wasn't too far away. Better have him there, where he could keep an eye on him.

"Come on, Fullmetal," Mustang said, placing his palm between Ed's shoulder blades and steering him gently forward. "You're sleeping over."

Mustang locked his office door behind them and turned on the lights. He steered Ed toward one the couches and tried to sit him down. To his surprise, Ed complied, curling up on the smooth leather of the futon like all he'd been searching for was a place to crash. Mustang got the distinct sense he wouldn't be moving any time soon. His shoulders dipped in relief.

The office was chilly, though, and while Mustang was fully clothed, Ed was in pajamas. He could see goosebumps rise already on the kid's skin. Roy went to the closet and dug around until he found a shock blanket in the first-aid kit. He unfolded it and draped it carefully over Ed, tucking it in between him and the couch to hold the heat. It might have been Roy's imagination, but he thought Fullmetal let out a quiet, contented sigh.

He'd be all right. He might be pissed when he woke up, but better here than in the garrison, or at worst, in a holding cell. Mustang returned to his desk and dug out the neglected report. He was already halfway done, and it shouldn't take him too long to finish it and leave it in Harper's office. He would drop Ed back at the dorms on the way, if he still wanted to go walkabout. He sat down and started writing.

Mustang zoned into the report, focusing solely on the task ahead. His pen glided over the pages, narrating the events of the last week. He was about halfway through3 when a soft sound jarred him from his work. He looked up to Ed and felt dread settle in his stomach.

The young alchemist was curled in the fetal position as if he was trying to hold himself together by sheer physical strength. His entire body was shaking, his hands fisted. A soft whimper reached Mustang's ears, a thin and young and helpless sound. Roy rose and knelt next to the couch.

Ed's face was lined with pain. "No….no," he murmured. "Don't–take…give him back…Give him….please." He twisted, shrinking further into himself. "Please."

 _Oh, hell._ Mustang's stomach twisted. Ed was having a nightmare, of the night of the transmutation of all things. As if he didn't think about his mistake enough when conscious. How many times would the poor kid need to relive losing his limbs, watching his brother lose his body?

Before he realized what he was doing, Mustang reached out and gently rested his hand on the crown of Fullmetal's head. Fine hair brushed his palm and fingertips. "It's all right, Ed," he said quietly. "It's just a dream." Ed jerked in his sleep, biting his lip so hard Roy was afraid he'd draw blood. A single tear tracked from the corner of his eye.

"Edward," said Mustang. Now would be a really good time for the kid to wake up. "Relax. It's not real." Mustang tucked a lock of burnished hair behind Ed's ear. "It's just a dream. You're safe."

A shuddering breath went out of Fullmetal. Slowly, his fists unclenched. Tension started to ease out of his body, and his breathing steadied. Roy removed his hand and went back to his desk. He was almost done this irritating report.

Not a minute had gone by when another strangled whimper came from the couch. Mustang looked up. Ed was shaking again. His automail hand reached into empty space, but whether he was seeking human contact or grasping at something in his nightmare, Roy couldn't tell.

Mustang sighed. _Eight._ He pulled a clipboard out of a drawer and went again to the couch. He settled next to Ed's drawn-up legs, making sure his hip was touching Ed's shins. If human contact was what he needed to sleep, Mustang could do that. Not that he cared; it was just mildly disturbing to be in a room with someone who sounded like he was being tortured, that was all. Mustang clipped the report to the board and continued it, casually resting his free hand on Ed's knee. Ed calmed next to him, his ragged breaths growing steadier, the fear slowly draining from his body. Soon the only sound in the room was the scratching of Roy's pen and Fullmetal's slow, even sleep-breathing. It was almost peaceful in the Colonel's office.

With a little more force than necessary, Mustang stabbed the last period onto the report. Finally. He glanced at his watch; he'd been sitting here for over an hour. The moon was low in the sky. It would be dawn soon. He rubbed his tired eyes and stretched, wishing he did not have demanding superiors and high-maintenance subordinates.

He glanced down. Ed's face was relaxed and peaceful in a way it never was when he was awake. Mustang felt his face soften momentarily before he masked it again.

He was their commander, not their father. He'd told Hughes as much and he'd meant it. A father did not willingly send their children into harm's way again and again. He would never fill the hole in those boys' lives, the empty space Hohenheim had left years ago, and it was not his duty to do try.

But Ed and Al were his subordinates, and as their commander, it _was_ Mustang's duty to push them forward as well as look out for their well-being.

And if that required him to sit with Ed as he slept on his couch to keep away the nightmares, so be it.

Mustang turned away and went back to his desk. He had to get this report over to Grumann's office before he could head home. And a certain alchemist needed to get back to his dorm.

Roy opened one of his larger desk drawers all the way before slamming it closed. The noise was like a gunshot in the quiet of the room. Ed sat up with a yelp.

"Time to get up, Fullmetal," said Mustang flatly, shuffling his papers and stapling them. "I need to get going, and you're wrong if you think I'm carrying you to your room."

Ed rubbed his eyes and looked around in confusion. "Colonel? What the hell–why am I in your office?"

Mustang pulled on his jacket. "I came in to finish a report and found you out for a moonlit stroll through the hallways. I towed you here so you wouldn't get caught by one of the guards and court-martialed."

"What?" Ed pushed hair out of face. "What are you talking about?"

"Sleepwalking, Fullmetal," Mustang said. "Heard of it? It means you walk when you're asleep."

"Shit, are you serious?" Ed asked, ignoring the jab. He swung off the couch and swayed slightly, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes. "I was _sleepwalking?"_

Mustang frowned. "You mean it's never happened before?"

"Not that _I_ know of!" Ed sounded startled. "I think I would know if I liked to wander around snoring." He shivered, holding his cold automail arm away from his body.

"Why didn't Al catch you before you got out of the dorm?" asked Mustang.

"He's at the library," said Ed. He wrapped the shock blanket around his shoulders like a cloak. "We got back from West City around eleven. Al went to look up a few things and I went to the dorm to sleep."

"Apparently you didn't stay there long," said Mustang. "You're lucky it was me who found you."

"And you're here why?" asked Ed, yawning. "I mean, if Hawkeye knew you like to do your reports by moonlight, maybe she should just lock you in your office for the night. Maybe you'd actually do your paperwork that way."

"You realize that your being a somnambulist actually gives me an excuse to alchemically seal you in your dorm room every night?" asked Mustang slyly. "I can just chain you to your bed and not have to worry about getting a call in the middle of the night from some irate superintendent saying that the Fullmetal Alchemist, _my_ subordinate, has made their building collapse."

"Chain me to my bed, eh?" Ed jabbed gleefully. "Very kinky, Colonel."

Mustang resisted the urge to pull on his gloves. "If you're still here in the morning, some _very_ unflattering rumors will spread about us," he shot back. "I'd recommend you get back to your dorm, Fullmetal."

"Why, Colonel," Ed said, mock-aghast. "Get your head out of the gutter."

Mustang smirked. "Are you sure you can find your way back? Do you need me to draw you a map to the dorms? One with little pictures and easy, _short_ words–"

"I would stick you to the ceiling for that, but I am just too damn tired. I'll kill you in the morning." Ed made for the door, his automail foot still clanking against the floor.

"Fullmetal," called Roy. Ed paused and turned back, gold eyes bright in the darkness.

"Will you be all right?" he asked carefully. Not _are you all right._ He knew better than that, just as he knew, and Ed knew, that Mustang meant more than getting back to the dorms.

For a moment, Mustang could see conflicting emotions in Ed's eyes–distrust, knee-jerk anger, fear, surprise. For a second Roy was sure Fullmetal was going to push him away.

Then something in his face softened. "Yeah," Ed said. "I'll be fine, Colonel."

"Good," said Mustang. "Now get yourself gone. Watch for the guards. I don't need to be bailing you out of the military jail as well as helping cover the expenses of your destructive tendencies."

Ed rolled his eyes and walked out, giving a small wave. "Good night, bastard."

Mustang sighed. _Nine._ "Good night, Fullmetal," he said to the empty room.

When he came in that morning normal time, Mustang was surprised to find the shock blanket folded carefully and placed on his desk. There was a note on top. One word, in familiar messy scrawl, had been written in the middle of the card: _Thanks._

Funny, how both of them could use a single word or phrase to say volumes.

The corner of Mustang's mouth turned up in a half-smile. He replaced the blanket in the medkit, but the note he folded carefully and put in an inner pocket of his uniform. His grin grew and he returned to his desk and the pile of paperwork waiting with renewed vigor.

It was nice to know that despite it all, even in times of uncertainty and desperation and despair, there were still some people he could reach.

And that those people could still reach back.


End file.
